


He Did

by stories_with_no_ending



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Canon Compliant to a Point, Endgame Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 12:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18873454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stories_with_no_ending/pseuds/stories_with_no_ending
Summary: "Where to, now?" Peggy asked him."I have to rescue him," Steve told her. He didn't hesitate to answer, even if the thought of it hadn't fully formed until that moment.It made sense though. What else could he have stayed in the past for if not to save Bucky?





	He Did

Steve could say he had not planned to leave the time stone for last, but he would only be fooling himself. Ever since he had seen Peggy, looking better than he remembered and handling things like only she could, a hidden thought had made its way to the center of Steve's mind, slowly becoming the only thing he could think about. 

Now, he didn't have to go back. There was no reason for him to be in the future. The battle was won, Earth had so many defenders, he could easily lose count. A lot of them were better than he was, smarter, faster, stronger. 

He could just stay here. He could get that dance, get married, have kids... live the life he had not been able to. If Peggy wanted that. 

Did she want that? 

Thinking about it didn't provoke any reaction. The thought of a quiet life no longer echoed happiness in him. It had been a long time since he had wished something so attainable. 

It had taken him 70 years in the ice, 3 more years of being awake in a century that allowed for so many good things to happen and a heart-to-heart with Sam to finally understand it himself, but as soon as he did, it made absolute perfect sense. 

Peggy appeared in the room next door, the way she had before. Steve waited for the other person in the room to leave, still unsure what he was going to do. All his life, and he still couldn't properly make choices when it came down to what he wanted. 

What was he doing, really? He was bringing another person into this whole time-travel thing. Peggy might have a brilliant mind but Steve was relatively sure that anyone would be taken aback if they were visited by a dead guy from the future. 

He shouldn't be here. 

He had a life he had built, Bucky and Sam to go back to. He had a world to protect, even if the world didn't really need him as much as it used to. 

He was about to leave, sure that this was useless and stupid, when Peggy Carter herself walked in the room. 

Her beautiful brown eyes widened in shock at the sight of him. 

"Steve..." she breathed, her voice quivering. 

Steve wasn't sure what to say. He really wished he had thought this through. 

"Hi," he said back. He sounded meek. 

"I have lost my mind," she concluded. "This is what I get for not sleeping properly."

"You're as sane as ever," Steve said, not willing to let Peggy question the whole reality because of his stupid ass. 

"That's not a lot of comfort," she joked. She looked visibly unsure so Steve tried his best to explain. 

"I got frozen in the ice - turns out the plane crash didn't actually kill me," he said. 

Peggy watched him with maximum attention. Her eyes were following every move he made. In fact, Steve was sure he couldn't breathe without Peggy immediately taking notice. 

He found himself wondering what kind of life she had that made her so sensitive to possible threats. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he knew. 

He would be acting the same in the situation, after all. 

"I actually woke up in 2011," he started. He told her everything, from Nick Fury and how they tried to mask the year he woke up in, to the aliens and other beings, Bucky, the wizards, the stones, to the way the future looked and how incredible it was. He made sure to tell her about all the social progress, how women were beginning to be seen as equal. 

It must have been hours by the time he was done. 

Somewhere during the whole story, Peggy had gotten closer to him. Now, she was hugging him, her arms wrapped around his torso. 

"I can't believe you're here," she finally said. 

Steve did not hesitate to wrap his arms around her, too. After all this time, he found he had retained only a vague memory of what Peggy felt like in his arms. Not for the first time, he thought how easy it would be to just stay here with her, to let the world pass him by as he lived in his own happy, tiny corner. 

He thought Tony might have approved of this version of getting a life and Steve could not help the pang of sadness. What right did he have to a happy life when Tony had sacrificed his. 

War had always caused causality but Steve had been adamant no one else was going to die on his watch. It felt like his failure as much as it felt like Tony's choice. 

But then, 

"You have a bad habit of blaming yourself," Peggy told him with a smile. She reached for two mugs. "Coffee or tea?"

Steve was about to refuse when he realised he had time. A whole lot of it, too. 

"Coffee would be good," he answered. 

Peggy smiled. "I remember that. Then again, the 21st century could have changed you." 

As she poured him a cup, Steve considered this situation. It felt beyond strange to be talking to Peggy again, let again the notion that he was in the past. He was painfully aware that the longer he stayed, the more likely it was that he was creating an alternate timeline. 

Which - 

Which didn't sound too bad. 

In fact, it could be exactly the thing he should do. 

He gave Peggy an easy smile. "It most definitely did not. At least, not to that degree."

His joke fell flat. Neither one of them was really in the mood to laugh.

"Where to, now?" She asked him. 

Steve tried his hardest to identify the emotions behind her question but there was nothing he could get from it. However good Peggy had been at masking emotions, she had only become better. 

He wondered if there might be hope hidden somewhere, but he wasn't sure it would have made him feel better even if there was.

It didn't matter either way.

"I have to rescue him," he answered her. He didn't hesitate but the thought of it hadn't fully formed until right that moment.

It made sense though. What else could he have stayed here for if not to save Bucky?

Peggy offered him a short sigh. "I wouldn't expect anything else."

For a moment, Steve considered just coming clean about his feelings. But it almost felt like it would cheapen what he had had with Peggy, as if she had been a replacement rather than the real thing, and he wasn't ready to explain why it wasn't so.

He desperately wanted to believe that it wasn't so, too. Saying it out loud might just prove him wrong.

Looking at the strong woman in front of him, he realised she deserved so much better than someone who could ever only be half in love with her.

Perhaps, if he hadn't crashed that plane, if he hadn't woken up in a century that fully allowed him to be himself, he could have been content living a quieter life with her. No aliens, no evil half-gods, no purple maniacs that would break the world. 

It would have still been half a life though. 

"So, do you know where he's being held?"

Steve hesitated. He hadn't thought to look through the records. 

"Somewhere in the Soviet Union," he said, sure about that.

"That's so helpful, Steve." Peggy laughed at him. He couldn't blame her.

He tried harder to remember. He knew Bucky had assassinated one of the British spies sent for information on the Soviet Union's nuclear development at some point in '54.

But that was a year away and Steve was unwilling to wait that long. He had waited enough in his current timeline. Or, he supposed, it wasn't current anymore. 

"I could try hacking into Hydra's system." He said, but regretted it as soon as it came out of his mouth. He remembered the lessons with Natasha, where he had tried his hardest to pay attention before giving up completely.

That would have really come in handy now. 

Natasha would have been brilliant right now. It hurt thinking about that, so Steve ignored it.

"Or we could just threaten Zola." 

"Right," Peggy said. Her eyes darkened. "I can't quite believe Hydra managed to infiltrate. Not here. Not us."

"They've managed far worse things with no one taking notice," he attempted to comfort her. 

Peggy maintained a blank stare. 

"We have to get the names of all Hydra agents out of him," she told Steve. "Whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes," Steve whispered, an echo of his own words. 

Who was going to die this time? 

* * *

 

Zola had been useless in finding Bucky. Whatever he knew, he had boasted to know ten times more. On the plus side, he had given them a long list of double agents to take out and question. 

But a year and a half later, it seemed that their best chance was indeed the assassination. The problem was Steve had always been useless with dates and this time it was no better. 

Peggy had long stopped trying to figure out the date herself. 

All they had to go on was May and Kharkov, Soviet Union. Or Ukraine, if Steve were to go by 2010s geography. 

It was some but not a lot of information. Enough for Steve to want to act. 

"Steve, I have to ask -" Peggy started, one day when they were sitting on the couch at Peggy's, "what happens if he doesn't recognise you?"

"He will," Steve said, without hesitation. He wasn't going to say more but Peggy's sigh made him reconsider. "He told me Hydra hadn't perfected the memory wiping thing until later. He still remembered this assassination. Or, well, parts of it." 

Peggy nodded. 

"Plus, he remembered me 60 years later. He must be able to now." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, but doubt slowly settled in his mind. 

Steve had not allowed himself to consider what it had meant for Bucky to break through 70 years of brain-washing just because of Steve and there was a reason for that. His younger self had been able to convince himself that all he had ever done with Bucky meant nothing more than a sign of either friendship or necessity. All the lingering hugs had been the result of two good friends missing each other, all the times they would share a bed had been the result of ruthlessly cold Brooklyn nights, and that one week, when Steve had fell so ill he barely remembered anything, when he had almost dozed off, when he felt Bucky's lips on his cheek - that had been a familial gesture. After all, whenever daylight came, Bucky would find Steve a new girl to try and get him to date. But 70 years of brain-washing... Steve wasn't sure if he was being naive, ridiculous or rational in thinking that it could be - 

_No_. 

It didn't even matter. Bucky could hate his guts and all that he stands for and Steve would still go to the end of Earth for him. 

This time was no different. 

"Is the team ready?" he asked Peggy, refusing to dwell on either thoughts about Bucky or the nerves he was starting to feel.  

He had first thought it would be a good idea to get the Howling Commandos back for this. But between the secrecy of S.H.I.E.L.D., the implications of time travel on the world and the fact that Bucky had been stripped of his humanity and turned into a murderous asset... well, it was better to have unknowing agents. 

And they were kept in the dark as much as possible. As far as they knew, this was a rescue mission. All they had to do was locate this mysterious assassin and save the British spy, under a strict do-not-engage policy. Hell, they didn't even know they were working for Captain America himself. 

They couldn't. 

Steve had never felt further away from men under his command than he did now. Although, he supposed that they weren't even under his command but Peggy's. 

He already hated that she was coming with them. He didn't want anyone to lose their lives, but especially not Peggy. He was not going to trade one life for another. 

He slept on Peggy's couch that night. In the morning, their bags, including his shield hidden in a large suitcase, all packed, they boarded a plane going straight to Berlin. Passports allowing them to enter East Germany were waiting for them there, along with a train crossing half of Europe to Kharkov. All in all, it would take 16 days.

They were to arrive in Ukraine a day before May 1st. 

And Steve was about to spend this journey alone, but for maybe a few short visits from Peggy. Plenty of time to question all his life choices, he figured. Like giving up planes and a democratic and unified Germany. Or a lack of communism in Europe. Or mobile phones. Or the internet. 

He turned around in his seat. He was five cabins away from Peggy and the rest. He hoped they were sleeping better than he had been. Which was to say, not at all. 

He couldn't stop thinking about the mission. He didn't know how long they would have to wait, although in his defence he was vaguely sure that he heard Bucky say something about the beginning of May. 

_That must be it_ , Steve convinced himself. 

Just a few more days and Bucky would be out of Hydra's claws and next to him. 

Steve turned again. He hated himself for thinking this, but he missed Tony's luxurious plane seats. He missed Tony more. He wondered what it had meant for him to do that, knowing his daughter would be left behind. 

Steve thought back to the plane he crashed, wondered how that might have changed if he had a daughter to worry about. He knew all of his friends would put their life on the line in seconds if it came down to it, a thought that saddened him. It was part of the job requirement, yes, but ... 

It was incredibly superhuman of them, Steve thought. 

It had been incredible of Natasha to do what she did. Steve believed he had known her well enough to understand what she must have been thinking. She knew what she was doing, in not letting Clint leave a family behind but - 

but Natasha had had a family as well. 

He gave a small sigh. Sleep wasn't going to find him. He got up instead and walked around. Most people were sleeping, and those who weren't looked like they wanted to be. 

His mind wondered back to Bucky, as it always had the habit of doing. What was Bucky going to say when he saw him? When he finally recognised him? Steve wasn't sure. 

He wondered if there would be more of the old Bucky left now that it was earlier in time. Would he feel not as guilty? Would it help with the nightmares? 

And when he finally accepted his life post-Hydra, how would they erase his programming? Steve thought they could try going to Wakanda but - 

But he wasn't even sure who was on the throne now, much less whether they would help an outsider. An outsider who has blood on his hands, even if he doesn't remember pulling the trigger. 

Steve wasn't an idiot, as much as Sam called him one. It would be a risky move. A fruitless one too. 

There was nothing to guarantee that they had even developed the technology needed. Or that they wouldn't just turn Bucky in to - to the CIA, to MI2... to anyone who would take him, probably. 

He couldn't risk it. 

Plus, Hydra was being shut down double agent by double agent within S.H.I.E.L.D. Soon, there would be nothing left. Or at least, Steve hoped for that. 

They could get that damned notebook Bucky had told him about and burn it. No one would know the code then. It wouldn't matter if the programming was still hidden in Bucky's brain. 

Without realising it, he had walked across half the train. He stopped and started walking back when a hand fell on his shoulder. 

"Can't sleep either?" Peggy asked him when he turned around. 

Steve shook his head slightly. He was about to explain what was on his mind when he remembered his surroundings. The lack of sleep was getting to him, clearly. 

"What's keeping you up?" he asked instead. 

Peggy started walking towards his seat, not speaking. Steve figured whatever was occupying her mind could not be said in public either. 

"You need your rest," she told him when they got back. 

Steve agreed but his mind seemed content on keeping him up. 

"We lost people in the war," he said instead, hoping that Peggy would catch on. 

Of course, she did.

"Remember what I told you about choices?" 

Steve did, but it didn't ease his mind this time. 

"Bucky's choice was stripped away from him." 

He should have never even considered to stop looking after him. If he had thought better, if he had considered that Bucky had been turned into a supersoldier himself - 

If he had stopped to think, goddamn. 

Instead he had tried to get drunk, lived his life, and crashed a fucking plane into the ocean without even once thinking that Bucky might still be out there. 

Would he still have crashed that plane if he knew Bucky needed him? 

The hesitation in the pit of his stomach told him not to think further about this. It would only end in more sleepless fumbling in his seat. 

"He will regain it," Peggy said. "Just like the other one had."

She was right. Bucky was okay, in an alternate timeline, happy. An edge of excitement grasped at Steve, prompted by the thought of seeing Bucky again. Sam, too. 

This was just a mission. 

At the end of the day, he was going to go home, to his friends - his family. 

Unless he would stay - 

No. 

That wasn't what he was here for. 

He couldn't do that. 

* * *

 

They had to change at Kiev. 

They should have reached it by 10 a.m., but instead, they barely got there at 2 a.m., almost a day later. Needless to say, they had missed their connecting train. 

With the corner of his eye, Steve watched as his team was led by Peggy into the station motel. He couldn't follow them. A few of Peggy's team have already pointed out the mysterious stranger who seemed to be following them. 

They were good agents, Steve thought. They needed good agents for this mission. 

He finally decided to go the opposite direction in search for a place to stay the night when he saw it. He wasn't supposed to, he was sure. 

But the red dot was unmistakable. 

He didn't skip a beat when he moved out of the open and into a narrow alley. He examined his surroundings quickly: no one in the alley, a few small windows faced it, none of them had a light on. He had to get out of the residential area. 

And he had to do it fast. 

He quickly pulled his gun out of the suitcase he was carrying, strapped the suitcase to him, and hurried down the alley. 

The red dot didn't appear again, but Steve was sure he was still being followed. 

He wasn't sure by who, though. 

He dodged a few corners, took cover under the shadows until he reached the river. 

There were no houses there, but that left him out in the open. He was halfway through crossing the street to get under the bridge when he heard the gunshot. 

He moved to the right on instinct, and the bullet went flying past his head. 

He did not dare stop moving. Whoever had fired the shot would have gotten his head if he hadn't moved. They were damn good. 

Steve got under the bridge and fumbled to pull the shield from his suitcase. Discarding the suitcase, he adjusted the straps and got ready. 

For a good minute, he could only hear his own breathing. 

Then, as he looked for the seventh time across the street he had come from, he saw a silhouette heading towards him. It was dark, he was tired and his brain had been stuck on Bucky for days now. Still, he could have sworn - 

No, he needed to be closer to make that out. 

Closer could mean dying in this situation.

He clutched the gun tighter, then remembered to loosen the grip. He wondered, for a brief second, if the great Captain America was going to die under an unknown bridge, in Kiev, because he couldn't keep it in his pants. 

There had to be some irony in that. 

When he looked again, the silhouette had disappeared. Out of sheer force of habit, Steve swiftly turned to look behind him, then above, then in front. 

Nothing. 

They had as if disappeared. 

If he risked getting out from under the bridge to look for them, he would be exposed. So he stayed. 

It was bitter to realise neither Sam nor Bucky had his back this time. He kept looking back and forth between up, left and right but every time he thought he detected movement, there was nothing. 

He was listening for footsteps, too, but could hear nothing. He was even careful to smell in case something alerted him, but nothing.

Whoever had attacked him was a ghost. 

Like Bucky had been. 

He shook the thought away and focused. 

He must have stayed under the bridge for the better part of an hour when he decided it was hopeless to just wait. Whoever it was that wanted him dead was going to wait much longer than Steve had the patience or the time to - he had a train to catch. 

As silently as he managed to, he moved to the edge of the bridge pillar. He turned outwards to look and - 

something grabbed him, twisted his arm around and threw him across the street to the other side. 

His shoulder had given a loud crack in protest but he had no time for that. 

He held his shield up as a bullet came flying at him but there was no second bullet. Steve lowered his shield to look around. 

Whoever had attacked him had disappeared again. 

Steve breathed and - 

strong arms wrapped around his throat, limiting airflow immediately. 

He pushed his shield deep into the person on top of him, and that was enough to break the contact. Steve pushed them off him and threw himself a couple feet away. 

In front of him stood Bucky. 

Steve couldn't believe he hadn't been able to tell the first time he saw the Winter Soldier. It was Bucky head to toe, maybe a few pounds of muscle heavier but him, nonetheless. 

He barely had time to catch his breath when a fucking dagger came at him. 

It cut him across his left cheek as he moved to the right. 

"Bucky." Steve said, his voice clear. 

A few years earlier and they might have been across the street in Brooklyn. 

"Who the hell is Bucky?" came the answer. 

His voice was his, but it didn't sound like Bucky. Not yet. 

Steve was about to throw his shield on the ground when a bullet came flying at him. He hadn't even fucking noticed it. 

_Shit_. 

This wasn't going as planned. 

"Bucky, it's me," he tried. 

That got - _something_. 

Even in the dark Steve saw the hesitation. 

"Steve," he kept going, unsure of what else to do. He didn't drop his shield just yet. "the guy you took care of whenever I got sick, the guy you knew since I was tiny and scrawny and picking up fights with dudes ten times bigger than - "

He had never been punched in the face so fucking hard. For a second there, he must have lost consciousness because he ended up on the pavement, in the middle of the street, with Bucky - the Winter Soldier - Bucky ready to punch him again. 

Pain was the last thing he remembered. 

* * *

 

The first thing he felt was the the tightness around his wrists. Then around his ankles. He tried to move, but something hurt. Then he understood he couldn't move at all. 

His left little finger - slightly. 

That was all he could move. 

Fuck. 

"I thought I might have killed you," Bucky's voice said in a very not-Bucky way. 

"Clearly not," Steve said. He quickly looked around the room, four walls and a window. There were no personal touches to it, but it didn't look like a hotel room either. The walls were yellowing, with mould and cracks decorating them.  

It meant something that he hadn't been killed. Bucky was still in there, he knew he was. 

Just as he was thinking that, he found himself with a knife was at his throat, quick and carelessly. It was no longer just a job. 

Good, Steve thought. That's what he was aiming for. 

"What the fuck do you know about me?" not-Bucky asked. 

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes but everyone calls you Bucky. You were born on March 10, 1917. You met me when you were 7 and I was 6, when some kid decided to pick on me, to steal my money. You haven't left my side since. Not of your own accord, anyway." 

"Sentimental bullshit," not-Bucky said, despite the soft glint in his eyes. "Tell me the truth," he demanded. 

"That is the truth," Steve insisted. "You have three younger siblings, Rebecca, Joseph, Frank. You love all of them and you would never say it but Rebecca has always had your undivided attention. She's crazy, and crazy talented like you. You once made me - "

Steve should have been used to punches by now, given how many he had received in his life but not-Bucky's punches just seemed to hurt more for whatever reason. Maybe it was because they were unexpected. 

Steve watched him walk away, as if to consider what he had done. 

"You could have just told me to shut up," Steve mussed. 

He almost got another punch for that but not-Bucky held back. 

Steve looked into the blue eyes he knew so damn well and searched them desperately. He knew he wasn't going to die, even in this state Bucky wouldn't. 

"Why should I believe you?" not-Bucky growled. 

Maybe Bucky had been right, Steve was an idiot. Why else would he be talking with someone who keeps punching the living shit out of him? 

"Because you know it's true. They haven't been able to wipe your memories clean just yet. You remember flashes. Like the time you took me on the Cyclone and I puked my guts out or that one really cold winter in 22 when we slept in the same bed but you complained I hogged the blanket so you kicked me out halway through the night - " 

"I don't know what you're talking about." But he did. Steve watched him pace around the room like a trapped cat. Funny, since Steve was the one being held captive. 

"You could untie me, you know." 

That made not-Bucky stop in his tracks. "Why the hell would I do that?" 

"Because I'm your friend and I don't want to hurt you," Steve said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"You almost broke my back," not-Bucky said. 

Steve blinked slowly, then remembered. "In my defense, I didn't know that was you." 

Not-Bucky seemed to consider this for a while. Steve almost thought he had forgotten he was in the room to begin with when he spoke again. 

"If you don't want to hurt me, why would you want to be untied?"

That was it. He was grasping at straws. He had to be. "Because, believe it or not, it's not comfortable not to be able to move at all."

Not-Bucky gave a half-laugh. It was a bitter sound, and Steve hated it. 

He was about to try and bring up another memory when they both heard something at the door. Not-Bucky immediately loaded his gun, slowly approaching something behind Steve.

Slowly, Steve tested to see if he was able to move his toes and to his surprise - he was. 

Only he couldn't move or he might end up dead. He did have some semblance of self-preservation, despite popular belief. 

Suddenly, the door flew open. Steve used the bang it made for cover as he jumped with his chair around to face the door as well. In the frame stood Peggy Carter with the Captain America shield raised up, dodging not-Bucky's bullet on the way. 

"Don't shoot!" Steve warned but a whole lot of guns were already pointing towards Bucky. Steve counted seven - but there were fifteen agents that had come with Peggy so there must have been more. 

Despite his plea, Not-Bucky shot again, hitting one of the agents - Greg, Steve thought. Greg crashed, bleeding from his shoulder. 

That was enough. 

Steve saw it before it happened. 

All the guns pointed at Bucky, his Bucky. He didn't even think. 

Whatever force he had gathered, he used to jump in front of him. For a moment, he thought he had succeeded. A bullet went through his lower abdomen and he really believed he had saved Bucky. 

Then he heard a loud crash behind him. 

He hadn't noticed the chair that broke under the weight, hadn't noticed the audible gasp one of the agents gave, nor the "fuck" that echoed in the room. He scrambled to turn around as best as he could only to find Bucky laying on the ground, bleeding from his chest. 

That's all Steve could focus on: all the fucking blood coming out of him. It was soaking through his shirt, spilling on the floor, colouring his skin a deep, dreadful scarlet. Steve tried to stop the bleeding, apply pressure on it, he tore his coat up and placed it over the wound but the blood kept spilling. 

Red was everywhere. 

* * *

 

Steve's bullet had gotten stuck somewhere in his intestines, easily removed in a surgery. It took him a whooping total of 2 days to fully heal after it. By then, his shoulder had been popped back into place and the wound on his face was nothing more than a faint scar. He reckoned he should have paid more attention to how he was healing but he didn't have the energy to. 

Since he had gotten out of surgery, he hadn't dared stay away from Bucky's bed. Even while they were travelling, he didn't want to get away.

Not that Bucky would know - he had been unconscious since he got shot. Which might have been for the best, because Steve felt like he was losing his mind. 

Every once in a while, Peggy came by, usually with food. Sometimes, just to talk. 

"You need rest, Steve," she said this time, a day after they arrived at a S.H.I.E.L.D. base in New York. No one knew their real intentions - as far as bystanders were aware, Peggy had gone on a rescue mission and came back with the target of an assassination. 

"I've slept plenty," he insisted. It was true, sort of. Between the surgery, the exhaustion of the day and the lack of things to do in the empty room he was in, he had been dozing in and out of reality constantly. 

"Napping in a chair doesn't count." 

Steve sighed. "If he wakes up - "

"If he wakes up, he can't go anywhere."

That was a plain lie. Steve looked at him again. His metal arm - an earlier version, not as mobile and not as strong - was tied to the bed with the same handcuffs you would use on any common criminal riding in a police car. It was nothing to Bucky. He would shatter that in a second. 

Steve needed to be there when he woke up. He needed to explain the situation, needed to be the one to uncuff him and let him make his own choice. 

Steve hoped the choice was to stay here for a while, at least. 

"I'll stay," he finally said, turning his head to face Peggy.

Peggy gave a short nod and got ready to leave when Steve figured he might as well suggest it now. It had been on his mind since the beginning. 

"Let me take him to my apartment," he said, "he might feel better there."

Peggy sighed. "I was counting the minutes until you would suggest that," she smiled a sad, empty smile. "I have to give it to you, I didn't even think you'd last the hour." 

"It makes sense," Steve insisted. 

Peggy gave him an unconvinced look. Instead of offering him an answer, she said, "He means so much to you." 

His heart contracted in such a painful manner, Steve thought he might be having a heart attack. He should have realised that Peggy was no fool. 

"He does," he finally said, fully understanding the implications of his answer. 

"Was I..?" 

A mistake? A beard? Confusion? Steve wasn't sure she was referring to exactly but he always knew his feelings had been genuine. 

"No, never." He meant it. He hoped Peggy could see that as well. 

She seemed content with it. "I'll arrange something," she finally said and walked out the room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts. 

Out of all possible things he could have been doing while stuck in the 1950s, coming out to his ex-girlfriend had never even crossed his mind. He should have known better than to try and predict what was going to happen. 

He turned his attention to Bucky. Still unconscious, without a heart monitor to tell Steve anything about him, without any way of knowing if he had enough blood flowing through his system. Not for the first time, Steve wished he had paid more attention to the modern world miracles. Now, he could have invented a heart monitor. Or an MRI scan. Or anything that Bruce or Tony would have easily thought of in this situation.

He could have done something other than sit uselessly and wait. 

By the time Peggy showed up again, two hours later, with a driver and a van waiting for them, Steve was ready to leave this white, empty room. He got up when he realised there was company.

He was about to make up some fake name when the man recognised him. Steve had been foolish enough to believe his beard would hide him well enough. 

"Mr. Rogers," the man said, only a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Edwin Jarvis." 

Steve inhaled briefly, giving Peggy a look before realising she couldn't possibly know all that would happen with Tony, how Jarvis would raise him. What Tony would make. 

Steve smiled, or tried his best to. "Thank you for doing this, Mr. Jarvis," he said, extending a hand. 

Jarvis shook it without hesitation. 

"Let's go, then," Peggy said, without another word. 

Steve would almost think she was mad at him, if he didn't know better. 

They went out the room with the bed and into a hallway filled with closed and probably locked doors. Peggy guided them to the right, into another hallway. Steve hadn't realised it was close to midnight but a clock on the wall informed him of that. It made sense to leave now, he had to admit. 

No one seemed to be here - and those that were, must not have wanted to be seen. 

Peggy pointed to a back door and led them through it. The fresh air of the night engulfed Steve and he suddenly remembered he hadn't gone outside in a few days. He imagined taking a long walk with Bucky, when he would wake up. They could go to the quieter places in New York, walk around all night if that's what it took, and talk about what all this meant. Steve could tell Bucky about all the scientific achievements, most of which he didn't even understand, hoping that it would make him feel better. 

"Fuck's sake, Steve. To the left," Peggy told him in a harsh tone. 

Steve realised he had been pushing the bed in the wrong direction. 

"Sorry," he mumbled. 

Peggy gave him an exasperated look and nodded in the direction of a van. Steve got the message. 

As Jarvis opened the back doors, Steve lifted the bed onto the empty space in the back of the van, then climbed in as well. 

He felt like an elephant in the tiny space but he knew better than to complain. Peggy climbed into the passenger seat in front and Jarvis locked the doors behind Steve before getting into the driver's seat. 

"You still haven't told me the address," Jarvis said and Steve was about to say it himself when Peggy spoke. 

"Nor am I going to. The less you know, the better." 

Steve understood that so he said nothing. 

"Take a right here," Peggy instructed Jarvis, "and now a left."

Steve let her give the needed instructions, allowing his mind to step away from the conversation happening in the front. He looked at Bucky, instead. With his eyes closed and slightly turned to the side because of all the movement, he might have been sleeping. They could have been back in their old apartment, and this could have been just another late night of Steve sketching, while Bucky slept. He remembered all the notebooks he had filled with drawings of Bucky sleeping, the only times he allowed himself to properly study his face. 

He used to tell himself it was just practice that he did in drawing his best friend. He just needed to get the line of his jaw right to fully understand the anatomy of a face or needed to get the edge of his nose correctly because he had always struggled with drawing them and this was a good exercise. 

All lies, Steve realised now. But lies that might have kept him alive. 

Skinny and weak as he had been, he couldn't add being queer to the list of reasons larger men could pick on him for. But he would have had, had he realised his feelings for Bucky were more than what a friend would feel. Steve knew himself well enough to recognise that he would never hide behind a lie. Only when it was to himself. 

Looking at Bucky now, Steve half-expected him to open his eyes and give him a tired smile, the way he had done a million times before when he caught Steve drawing him. 

A lazy smile and a knowing look, which Steve would counter with a half-assed attempt at an insult and by closing the notebook and going to sleep. 

The van screeched as it made a sharp turn and suddenly Steve was prepared for the attack. 

Instead, he heard Peggy laugh. "You could have taken the next right, no need to be so dramatic," she told Jarvis as she settled in her seat again. 

Steve sighed, relieved, and sat back down. Then, he got up again - or as much as he could, in the crammed van, and turned Bucky back on his back, to what he hoped was a more comfortable position. 

The rest of the drive went smoothly and they arrived sometime before 1 a.m. 

Steve knew because he checked the time when he sat down next to Bucky and was surprised to see it was this early. Carrying Bucky up five flights of stairs had been reasonable, but one flight up, and he realised the bed would be too much effort to carry all the way. It didn't fit properly in the corners of the narrow staircase, and the metal kept making dreadful sounds that were sure to wake the neighbours up if they kept going. 

So they abandoned the hospital bed and instead, left Bucky in Steve's bed, tied to the bedpost. 

Which was just ridiculous, if they asked Steve. The only thing that was going to come from that was the fact that Steve would no longer have a bedpost as soon as Bucky woke up. 

He supposed that was one way of renovating. 

By the time Peggy and Jarvis left, not before Steve got the chance to thank them, it was almost 2. 

Steve walked around the apartment for a while, throwing out the rotten food that had been staying in his fridge for about a month now and doing the disgustingly dirty dishes he had left in the sink before going away. All the while he was doing this, he kept listening for any noises coming from the bedroom. 

It was dead silent. 

He figured at least the broken bedpost would alert him when Bucky would wake up. 

If he did. 

_No_ , Steve thought.  _When he did_. 

* * *

 

It was about quarter to midnight when Steve decided to take a shower. It had been a couple days since they brought Bucky to his apartment and way more since he had taken a proper shower. He turned on the water, leaving it in hopes of it turning hot, and undressed. 

The water wasn't as hot as he had been used to, but there wasn't a whole lot he could do about that. He took time to wash properly, clean out the dirt from his body that had lingered on him since God knows when. 

He was washing his hair for a second time, trying to get it clean, when he heard an unmistakably loud noise. Immediately, he got out of the shower, letting the water run, and threw his pants back on. 

He tried to be as silent as possible as he opened the door to the bathroom and stepped outside. 

There weren't any real weapons he could use, so he grabbed the closest thing he had to one - a dirty pot from the sink - and moved slowly towards the bedroom. 

It was exactly then that the door crashed on the ground, showing Bucky standing in the frame, dragging half the bedpost with him. 

"What the fuck?" he asked Steve. 

There wasn't any good answers to that so Steve decided to ignore it. He threw the pot on the ground and raised his arms up. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he told Bucky, who was now using the bedpost as some sort of makeshift weapon. Probably not a very efficient one. 

"You risked your life for me," Bucky said, matter-of-factly. 

Steve nodded. "Obviously, I didn't do a very good job at it." 

Bucky was still sporting the bandage covering most of his chest and Steve was glad his first impulse hadn't been to rip it out. Although, he was sure Bucky probably didn't need it anymore. 

"Why would you do that?" Bucky asked, not letting go of the bedpost/weapon. 

"Because you're my friend." Steve answered without hesitation. He watched as something flickered in Bucky's eyes, something confused and suspicious. 

"I don't know you." 

"You used to," Steve said, then thought to add, "you can ask what you want to know." 

Bucky seemed to hesitate at that. Steve noticed him lower his weapon though, so that must have been a good sign. He hoped it was.

"What's your name?" 

There was this thing Bucky did when he was hiding something: the right corner of his mouth would lift up just slightly. It used to be more pronounced, his right eyebrow would raise as well and he would usually burst out laughing right afterwards. Now it was unnoticeable unless you were looking for it. Right now, the right corner of Bucky's mouth was just slightly raised.

So he remembered Steve's name, at least. 

"Steven Grant Rogers," he said anyway, unwilling to push Bucky in any direction just yet. 

"Doesn't ring a bell," Bucky said, right corner of his mouth twitching still. 

Steve accepted that. "What else do you want to know?" 

Silence fell over the apartment. The water in the shower could still be heard, and Steve was sure neighbours would hate him when he inevitably used up all the hot water but it seemed too risky to leave Bucky now just to turn it off. His eyes moved from the vague direction the bathroom was in back to Bucky, only to find him looking at his chest. 

"You heal fast." He said, eyes flickering back to meet Steve's. 

"I do." 

"Why?" 

This time, his mouth stayed even. 

"Because I got a supersoldier serum when I was 25 and that made me grow like 10 inches and gave me a whole lot of muscle." 

Bucky snorted, "Obviously." 

Steve dared a smile. Bucky didn't reciprocate but Steve hadn't expected him to, anyway. He was glad they were making progress at least. 

"Did we ever go to some sort of science fair?" Bucky asked him. 

"Yeah, we did. Every year there was this thing called the Stark Expo," Steve explained, "and we'd never miss it." 

"I only remember the one time," Bucky admitted. 

Steve thought that one time was good enough, but he didn't say that. Instead, he asked "what do you remember about it?" 

Bucky seemed to hesitate then, as if he wasn't sure whether to tell him the truth or not. Steve almost told him that it was okay, that he could trust him but instead, he let his heart break in silence. 

"We were there, and then - " he paused, as if trying to gather his thoughts, "I don't know." 

"Were we alone?" Steve asked. 

Bucky shook his head as if to say no, but instead he admitted that he didn't remember. 

"Well, we went alone in '26 and '27, I think," Steve started, "then missed a couple years after that. Went with a group of friends from '35 all the way to '38. Then you kept getting dates, so we were always with girls all the way until '42." 

"That's a lot of dates."  

Steve gave a short laugh. He wasn't wrong about that. 

"We lived together?" Bucky asked him.

Steve nodded, "from '36 to '42. Rent had always been too high in Brooklyn but it was home." 

Bucky seemed to take this in. Looking at him, Steve found pieces of the old him everywhere: the way his eyes were just slighlty unfocused, how he stood with his left leg a bit outward, as if ready to go out at any second. He tried to guess what he was thinking just based on the way his body hung but he found that it was useless to try. 

"There was a girl -" Steve couldn't help it, he felt his breath catch. Of course Bucky would remember one of his dates and of course he would ask for that. " - she has blue eyes, black hair. She was - 10, maybe 11." 

That's what Steve got for making assumptions. 

"Your sister, Becca. She was wilder than you were, especially when you were young. She lived with us for a while, too." All of Bucky's siblings had at some point or another. 

"I think I remember that," Bucky said to Steve's utter delight. "You were so much smaller."

"I was." It wasn't Steve's favorite thing to contemplate so he averted his gaze. He was aware that the muscles didn't make him but he couldn't ignore the confidence boost he had gotten over the years just because of the serum. A part of him wished Bucky hadn't remembered him like that - weak, fragile, coughing his lungs up more often than not. 

When Steve looked back up again, Bucky was studying him. He looked like he wanted to say something else so Steve prompted him, "anything else you remember?" 

Bucky almost shook his head then, before stopping. "What were we?"

"Friends," Steve answered, too fast. Far too fast. 

If Bucky caught on, he didn't show it. Instead, he switched his weight from one foot to the other. With his right foot facing forward now, he was more comfortable. Steve was glad about that. 

"If I wanted to leave now - " Bucky started. 

"I would let you," Steve answered him before he even asked the question, as if they were 10 years back, in a much smaller apartment, discussing what they wanted to do for dinner. 

Bucky gave a curt nod. 

It would have been easy for him to walk away, for Steve to live with the knowledge that he had saved his best friend from Hydra, that he was living his life somewhere in the world, away from the chaos. Steve would go back to his time, to his Bucky and it would all be fine. 

Only, an irrational fear gripped at all the soft edges of his heart and Steve made the mistake of moving forward, towards Bucky. 

As if guided by instinct alone, Bucky took a few steps back, reaching the wall with his back. 

"Sorry," Steve said but it was too late, the damage was done. 

"I'll go," Bucky said, his eyes so unbearably cold and calculated that it hurt Steve just looking at them. 

"No, please don't." Steve wasn't in the habit of begging, but this felt appropriate. "You can, but I really don't want you to." 

That seemed to make Bucky pause. "Why?" 

Why, indeed. What was Steve hoping to achieve here? Get his freshly traumatised, amnesic best friend to hate him? Get Bucky as far away from him as possible? 

If he could just remember - if he had all his memories - Steve knew, or he hoped, that Bucky wouldn't just leave him. 

No, not  _him_. That was a ridiculous assertion to make. 

Steve tried to think of a way to answer and not scare the living shit out of Bucky at the same time, but found that his brain couldn't think of any acceptable responses. What was he even going to say? Because I'm in love with you and don't want to see you alone in the world? Bucky would disappear so fast, Steve wouldn't even get the chance to say another word. 

"I can help you," he finally said. It came out empty. 

"How?" Bucky asked. 

Again, Steve didn't know how to answer. He had felt useless before, when Bucky of the future had struggled through sleepless nights in Wakanda, when he would knock on Steve's door. And that had been years after he woke up. 

This was moments. 

"We can work it out together. I can help you with your memories - "

"You weren't wherever I was." Bucky said, cutting Steve off with an emotionless tone. 

Almost was, Steve wanted to say. Wherever Bucky went, Steve would go as well. 

Instead, he just nodded dumbly. 

But Bucky didn't walk out the door. He didn't make another move towards the door. 

"I assume I'm in the US somewhere?" He asked Steve. 

"Yeah, in New York. Brooklyn." 

Bucky took a moment to process that, before asking anything else. "Is this your place?" As he said that, he turned around to take it in as if for the first time. 

"For now," Steve answered him. 

"For now?" 

Shit. He hadn't even realised what he was saying. He needed to pay more attention. 

"Yeah," he said, hoping to get out of this conversation. 

Bucky seemed to accept that. With an eyebrow rise, he moved on, looking around. 

"Why am I here?" he asked. 

Steve knew he didn't have an appropriate answer for this either. He felt like the world's biggest idiot, not thinking anything through. "I thought it might help you to see someone you used to know when you woke up." 

Bucky took that in. He brushed his hand over the couch, not saying anything for a long time. 

"You patched me up," he finally said. "Thank you." 

That felt like a win, immediately. "Well, not me personally but yeah. You were never supposed to get shot."

For a second there, Steve thought he saw a smile cross Bucky's lips. Whatever it had been, it was gone as soon as it came. 

"I figured," he told Steve. 

Silence fell then. Steve was at a loss as to what to say. What did you say in such a situation? He begged his brain to figure something out, the fear that Bucky might decide to leave anyway present in his mind. It used to be the case that they could live with the silence for hours at a time. They had been so used to each other, there was no need to fill it. Steve would silently draw at the table, Bucky would get frustrated with his own drawings and start humming songs instead. 

It used to be comfortable, familiar. 

Steve couldn't remember the last time he had sat in comfortable silence with Bucky at his side. 

"Where would I stay?" Bucky asked, pulling Steve out of his thoughts. 

Steve considered the question for a second, although the obvious answer was right in front of him - literally. 

"In the bedroom, if you want," he told him. 

Bucky gave him a curt nod. "Do you have keys to these things?" he asked, pointing at the handcuffs still attacked to the bed frame. 

Steve nodded. "They're in the kitchen," he said, before moving to get them, as a warning to Bucky. He had to go past him and he would rather not risk ending up with a runaway best friend just because he was careless. 

He got the keys and turned towards Bucky. "May I?" He asked. 

Bucky looked at him as if he was asking for the moon, before turning to him and extending his hand to be released. 

Steve tried not to touch him, unsure what would happen if he did but it proved an impossible task. Bucky didn't flinch, although Steve could have sworn he grew more still at the contact. 

"Thanks," he said when he was finally free. "Sorry about the bedpost."

Steve threw the bedpost on the couch, not concerned with fixing it. It didn't even look fixable. 

"It doesn't matter," he answered. It really didn't. 

He watched Bucky massage his metal wrist as if he could feel something there, before he turned around and headed towards the bedroom. Steve was ready to accept that this was all the interaction that would happen for the day, when Bucky turned around. 

"I think your shower is still running." 

If Steve didn't know better, he might have taken it for a joke.

* * *

 

Sleeping meant nightmares. 

It took Steve half a night to figure this out, when he kept waking up to loud noises, mixtures of whimpers and yells, coming from the bedroom. At first he tried to ignore them. 

They were relatively quiet in the beginning, so Steve turned around on the couch and hoped they would stop. He wasn't in a position to barge in and comfort Bucky, or try to, so he tasked himself with the impossible duty of doing nothing. Then, sometime around 4 a.m., they got worse. 

Doing nothing didn't seem an option anymore, so Steve got up from the couch, ready to walk in. He stopped just outside the closed door, questioning himself. 

Would it be better to just leave it? Bucky was in no shape or form fond of contact right now so what was Steve expecting, exactly? 

He stayed at the door for so long wondering what to do that the noises stopped. Left to face the fact that Bucky was probably better dealing with it on his own, at least for now, Steve went back to sleep. 

He had barely closed his eyes properly when the noises started again, louder still. 

He made his way back to the door separating them, calculating his next move. If he barged in, Bucky might just walk away and never come back. On the other hand, he needed to find a way to help his best friend with the shit he had been through. He felt stupidly paralysed: he couldn't go in but he couldn't just do nothing. 

He was so caught up in his own world it took him a while to realise the noises had stopped coming out, again. 

It seemed Bucky kept making his choice for him.

Steve stayed there a while longer, just to make sure Bucky would be okay before going back to his couch. 

It didn't take long for the noises to start again. 

Steve went back, froze at the door, the noises stopped, he went back to sleep again. And again. 

And again. 

By 7 a.m., it was obvious that Bucky was better whenever Steve was at the door. 

Happy that he could at least do something about it, Steve grabbed his pillow and moved against the wall the living room shared with the bedroom. 

He got about half an hour of sleep when he heard the door open. He had no idea why but he kept his eyes closed as he heard Bucky exit the bedroom. He seemed to hover near Steve for a second before heading to the bathroom. 

Steve took the cue to get up. He grabbed the pillow and threw it back on the couch, rubbing his eyes in the process. It had been years since he slept this bad. 

His stomach rumbled, giving him a purpose. 

He turned towards the kitchen, before realising there was nothing other than cereal that they could have. No bread, no milk, no eggs. Barely any coffee left. 

He was thinking of quickly going to the corner store to get some semblance of food when Bucky stepped out of the bathroom. Now that Steve could actually see him, he could tell he must have slept like shit. There were dark bags under his eyes, the whites of his eyes were colored with red veins and he was possibly paler than yesterday, which Steve had thought impossible. 

"I - " Bucky started, but immediately stopped, as if he remembered himself. 

Steve decided to ignore this outburst. "Good morning," he said, instead. 

"'Morning," Bucky answered him. 

"We only have leftover cereal for breakfast," Steve laughed, shaking the mostly-empty cereal box. 

Bucky didn't seem to think it was funny - or anything really. "It's fine," he mumbled, "don't need food."

Once, Natasha had called Steve a mother for checking up on Wanda. He was starting to understand why because the level of offence he took when Bucky said that was remarkable. 

"You absolutely do." Steve said, then thought of something else, "You also need some new clothes." And a lot of other things Steve was sure he was forgetting. A trip to the market was needed, then. They could even get breakfast on the way. 

Bucky said nothing at that. He seemed to be stuck on something in particular. Following his gaze, Steve identified the knives on the kitchen counter. 

"You can't hurt a fly with those," he told his best friend, trying to get at least a smile out of him. 

Instead, he got a frown. "Why would you keep them here then?" 

Now, that was a terrifying thought process. "Theres'a always things like cheese and butter in the world." 

Bucky nodded, as if thinking about it for the first time. 

"Do you want to go get some breakfast?" Steve asked. 

Not for the first time, Bucky seemed perplexed by the thought. "Where?" He asked. 

"Dunno," Steve said, "there's a breakfast bar round the corner, if that sounds good to you." 

He didn't know what he expected from Bucky, but it wasn't a shrug and acceptance. 

"Sounds good." 

As such, Steve decided to test his luck, "We could go buy some food for later after?" 

Again, he was surprised. "Sure," Bucky agreed, "but I don't have any money." 

Steve almost laughed at that, stopping with difficulty from smiling. "Don't even worry about that. My military pension is plenty." 

Bucky nodded, "If you're sure about that."

"I'm sure," Steve assured him. "Let me just grab some clean clothes and we can go." 

Guessing what he was about to do, Bucky moved out of the way, letting Steve get to the wardrobe in the bedroom. 

As he looked at it, he realised he had plenty of clothes he could easily share with Bucky - if he didn't feel like shopping for them. And if Bucky was comfortable with that. 

Steve wasn't a shrink, as much as he had tried to learn from Sam, who was at least better than he was at these types of things. He didn't know if Bucky would do better having his own stuff or if all the trying on and choices would prove too much. Steve was unwilling to push too hard, but he had no idea where the limit was. Maybe he should just ask Bucky what he wanted. 

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. 

As he got out of the bedroom, he found Bucky looking at his drawings. 

At first, it didn't register with Steve. Bucky could do whatever he wanted, after all. It took him too long to realise, but when he did, it was too late. 

"Is that - " Bucky started and Steve felt the fear in his body make his heart stop. The sky was about to come crashing down on him. "What is that?" 

Bucky twisted the notebook around so that Steve could see what he had meant. It wasn't  _that_ drawing. Instead, it was a drawing of Bruce working on one of Tony's screens. 

Steve breathed in a sigh of relief, before quickly grabbing the notebook from Bucky. "It's a really advanced machine that records all kinds of things," Steve said, realising that was a shit definition of a computer. But how did you even define one? 

He couldn't remember if the particular drawing he had in mind was from before or after that and Steve couldn't check now. If Bucky had seen it though, he wasn't running away. 

"Where is it from?" Bucky asked him. 

"Huh?" 

"The machine." 

_Fuck_. Steve had been so caught up with that stupid drawing that he didn't even realise what he was telling Bucky. How was he gonna get out of this one? 

"You're not gonna believe me, Buck," he said, honestly. 

Whatever the line between pushing and not pushing Bucky away, Steve would definitely be crossing it with this. 

Looking at Bucky now, with his curious, blue eyes and his eyebrow slightly arched, he almost caved in. It would be so easy to be sincere about this - and everything else. 

"Try me," Bucky said with just a bit of his old confidence back. 

Steve considered this. Maybe he didn't have to worry, truly. Maybe all he needed to do was tell the truth. It was a risky choice but what alternative did he have? 

"In 45, I flew a plane into the Arctic and froze there," he started, testing the waters. 

"Who pulled you out?" Bucky asked him. 

"S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve answered, watching as Bucky nodded, probably expecting this story to be over. "It was 2011, though." 

Steve had been watching Bucky with the utmost attention up until this point. When he heard that, Bucky's eyes widened and his mouth fell open before he quickly closed it. 

"What?" he asked. 

"I was frozen in the ice for 66 years." 

For a moment, Bucky said nothing. Then, his eyes darkened and his mouth closed in a scorn. "Why are you taking the piss out of me?" he demanded. 

"I'm not!" Steve protested, his voice catching. He scolded himself for being so desperate. 

"Then you're insane." Bucky concluded. 

"I warned you." Steve tried, "It's a damn complicated story and I wouldn't believe it if I heard it either." 

Silence fell. Steve tried to look at Bucky but the man wouldn't meet his eyes. If this was the moment he was going to walk out the door, Steve thought he might as well come clean with all of it, just to throw it all out the window. 

Then, Bucky asked, "How are you here now?", while raising his eyes to meet Steve's. 

"Believe it or not, time travel." Steve answered him. He waited patiently for Bucky to react, but this time he didn't. A step forward, maybe. 

"So the future is where that machine was from?" 

Steve nodded in confirmation. 

Bucky seemed to take all this in. "Hydra put me to sleep multiple times - just to conserve me," he said as if to explain why it could be the real thing. 

"So you believe me?" Steve asked, rather stupidly. 

"I didn't say that." 

A fair statement, Steve thought. Then he realised something. 

"It's not exactly proof but - it's as good as it gets," he said, hurrying back into the bedroom. He felt Bucky approach him as he ripped one of the floorboards from its place and extracted a small box from there. 

"What is this?" Bucky asked, watching him like a hawk. 

"I'm gonna show you a gun," Steve said, slowly, realising what he was about to do. "Don't freak out."

Bucky scoffed, as if to ask when he had ever freaked out. Steve was sure he could compile a list if he wanted to. 

"It's from the future, I brought it with me." Steve explained, carefully taking out the gun, painfully aware that it was loaded. 

He made sure the safety was on, though. Not that it would matter that much. 

Bucky took it from his hand, careful with it. He twisted it around a couple of times before pointing it at the wall. 

"What can it do?" he asked. 

"100 rounds per minute." Steve answered. 

Bucky showed nothing on his face, but Steve would have bet he was at least slightly shocked. Maybe impressed. The first time Steve heard what a modern weapon could do, he was slightly terrified for what it said about humanity to have invented such a murder device. 

"That's insane," Bucky finally said, handing the gun back. Steve took it and put it back in the box before placing the floorboard in its place. 

"It is." 

There was a pause which Steve mistook for the end of the conversation. As he was preparing to ask about breakfast again, Bucky mumbled, "I don't want to have to use a weapon again." 

"You won't," Steve said, without thinking. 

"You can't guarantee that." Bucky said, meeting his eyes and staring intently. There was a fire in them that Steve didn't recognise. 

"I can try my damn hardest to," Steve insisted, not looking away from Bucky. "Plus, who's gonna come for two random men?" It was a joke, but Bucky didn't smile. 

"I need a shower," he said instead, leaving as if he was in a hurry. 

Steve wondered about it but figured it was nothing. He sat down with his sketchbook, looking through it. The drawing he had worried about was just a few pages away from where Bucky had stopped. Like the sap he was, Steve traced his fingers over it before ripping it from the notebook and throwing it in the trash. He was not willing to try his luck with how much Bucky could handle. Although he had handled the whole freezing-all-the-way-into-the-future-then-going-back-in-time stuff fairly well. In fact, it seemed to have been the gun that made the most impact on him. Steve wished he could know what was in his best friend's head, the thoughts, the memories, the wishes. 

He wondered if there would ever be a point where he could find out all of this. 

Just as he was putting the sketchbook back on the table and looking through the books he had in pursuit of something that could keep his mind off things, he heard a loud noise coming from the shower. 

"Bucky?" Steve yelled. 

For a moment there was no response. 

Then, "Fine."

He didn't sound fine though. Steve could hear his voice was breaking and he swore he heard a whimper through the thin walls. 

What the hell was Steve supposed to do, just barge in? 

He heard another loud noise, as if Bucky had punched something, followed by a 'fuck'. The water was still running, though. 

Steve walked towards the door, wondering if being near would be enough this time. It didn't seem to be. 

All he could hear was labored breaths, along with constant knocking-like sounds. What was he doing in there? The breathing got shorter, more desperate and Steve felt useless just sitting there. 

"Bucky, I'm coming in," he said, trying to leave room for refusal. 

He waited and listened, but heard no words. 

Finally, he went in. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. There was a hole in the wall where the mirror had been and there were shards everywhere on the floor. The water in the shower was running, creating steam in the whole bathroom and the shower curtain had been ripped away from its place, now laying on the wet floor. 

Bucky stood crouched in the shower, as if cornered by something, breathing in short, ragged noises.

"Bucky," Steve tried, to no avail. "Buck," he tried again. 

Bucky wasn't answering. He seemed to be somewhere else, stuck in his own head. Steve wasn't even sure Bucky had seen him and he most definitely wasn't in any state for a coherent response. 

Steve approached him slowly, calling his name again once or twice, just in case something changed. 

He knew the PTSD symptoms by heart, but he had never witnessed an anxiety attack as severe as this. 

As he was nearing him, Bucky finally looked up and noticed. 

"Steve," he said, his voice ragged and broken. 

"I'm here," Steve said in response. He reached inside the shower to turn the water off but the broken faucet was useless. Never mind that, then. Steve leaned down, ignoring the cold water pouring over him. 

"Let's get you up, Buck," he told his best friend, not really expecting him to do anything in particular. Steve reached out, touching Bucky's arm. He almost reeled back at how cold he was. Steve lifted him, noticing in the process just how heavy his metal arm was, and tried to pull him on his feet. For what it was worth, Bucky attempted to sit up straight. But his legs buckled and he almost fell down. Steve managed to catch him just in time, wrapping Bucky's good arm around Steve's neck while wrapping his own arm around Bucky's torso. He carried him out the door and onto the couch, all the time asking the stupidest things he could think of, like if he was okay or how he was doing or what had happened. 

It was useless. It was like talking to a wall. 

Sitting him down on the couch, Steve hurried to grab as many blankets as he could. As if to encourage him, Bucky shivered throughout his full body. Steve grabbed the blanket on the bed, along with the spare one he kept in the drawers, and hurried out. 

He couldn't help it - as he was walking towards Bucky, his eyes trailed to all the scars that Bucky had. Some Steve was familiar with, but some he was not. Like the one that went across his abdomen, still pink, or the one cutting his calf in two, which was disappearing. Those were precise cuts, not recieved from a messy fight but from a torturer, Steve thought, as he wrapped the blankets around Bucky. It made his blood boil to think of the horrors his best friend had gone through. 

"You're okay," Steve said, sitting down next to Bucky on the couch. 

He was left not knowing what else to do so he stayed there motionless, his arm touching Bucky's. 

"You're safe now," he insisted, but Bucky said nothing. At least his breathing had calmed down a little. 

It took him half an hour to whisper a shy 'sorry' and another half hour to make any attempt at moving. 

When he did try, Steve gently pushed him back down. "Don't stand up just yet," he told him, "Do you need anything?"

"Water?" Bucky asked. 

Steve nodded and went to pour him some immediately. When he came back with the glass, Bucky had shifted into a more upright position. 

"I'm sorry," he said, again.

"It happens," Steve replied, handing Bucky the glass. 

Bucky drank half of it, then put the other half on the coffee table in front of them. "No, it doesn't," Bucky insisted. "I don't know what the fuck came over me."

Steve sighed, a noise that escaped him before he could think better of it. It made Bucky turn and look at him. 

"It's probably something called Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD."

Bucky scoffed. "So you're calling me crazy now?"

Steve shook his head, having forgotten what those words would mean in this decade. "No, Bucky, not at all. It's a usual response to trauma. Some of my friends had it, too."

At that, Bucky said nothing. Instead, he reached for the glass and drank some more of the water. The blankets had fallen around his torso, but Bucky didn't bother to lift them back up. Steve figured it meant he wasn't cold anymore, but he didn't like how distracted it made him. 

"What does it mean?" Bucky asked when his glass was empty.

"It means you have attacks where you relieve the moments of trauma, basically." 

"Basically..." Bucky repeated, as if it made him understand it better. 

Again, Steve wished he could know what was in his mind. Silence fell between them as Steve waited for Bucky to ask more questions. If it had been him, Steve thought he would have a billion questions. He didn't even know if he'd be able to answer those questions. He knew what PTSD looked like, sure. He had seen it plenty of time in action, way more than he would have wanted, and he knew the symptoms. But other than that? Did antidepressants exist yet? Could they get that for Bucky? Would Bucky even take them or would his pride be stronger? 

"I remember you, Steve." Bucky finally said, taking Steve by surprise. 

"What?" he asked, not fully registering what Bucky had said. 

But Bucky didn't repeat it, leaving Steve to wonder if he had even really heard it at all. 

After a while, Steve went out to get some food for them to eat. He moved as fast as possible, not wanting to leave Bucky alone, but when he came back, Bucky was still on the couch, playing with the empty glass of water. 

"Do you want me to fill that up for you?" he asked Bucky. 

"Please," was the response. 

They didn't talk much after that. 

* * *

 

Bucky was adjusting better than Steve had expected after that day. He was going out on random walks and there was even talk of Bucky getting a job, although Steve wasn't sure how to feel about that. He figured getting a job was just one step closer to getting a place of his own, and then Steve would have achieved his mission of making sure this Bucky was okay. 

He could go back after that. 

The thing is, he wasn't sure he wanted to. 

Maybe he hadn't spent enough time in the 50s to realise how bad things were or maybe he should be honest with himself and admit that he had grown attached to this version of Bucky as well. And this Bucky was not the Bucky from the future in such small but significant ways. Like the way he held his back slightly straighter and how he joked slightly more easily about things. And then, there were the things that he remembered. He hadn't told Steve everything, that much was clear. Sometimes, they would just be hanging out and Bucky would say something like 'remember the time when we...' and sometimes, Steve wouldn't even remember it but he would nod anyway, eager to listen to the story as Bucky would say it. Occasionally, he would remember halfway through and interject with his own memories, which always ended with them laughing at each other and themselves. Sometimes, Steve would listen, even if he knew the story, just to hear it from Bucky's perspective. 

He was never disappointed. Through Bucky's eyes, everything seemed different, lighter. He hadn't used to be as serious as Steve had always been so it was always a laugh, getting into his head. 

Really, Bucky was adjusting well. The only issue was the nights - Steve had gotten accustomed to sleeping outside his door, but sometimes it wasn't enough for Bucky to calm down. Sometimes, he would scream once and Steve would be ready to walk in, only for Bucky to stop and go back to peaceful sleep. Sometimes, the whimpers would get so loud that Steve would debate walking in just to stop them. He never did, though. 

Only tonight, it seemed worse than ever. 

Bucky must have been dreaming something horrendous because the sounds that Steve could hear through the thin walls sounded like the same noises soldiers on battlefields would make. Not for the first time, Steve wished he could take all of Bucky's pain away. He would gladly bear it all, if it meant his best friend would be free from it. 

The sounds got so bad that by 2 a.m., Bucky was already screaming. Steve thought it was both a blessing and a curse that he hadn't woken up. He once read somewhere that you aren't supposed to wake people from their nightmares but he thought this time, reality must be better than the dreams. 

Hesitating but not stopping, he got up from his place on the floor and reached for the door. Turning the doorknob seemed a painfully slow exercise when you weren't sure you wanted to do it in the first place. Steve turned it, anyway. 

As soon as he was inside the room, the sound of Bucky whimpering overwhelmed him. The smell wasn't great either. Steve didn't make a habit of entering the room and he had moved all of his clothes outside, so the smell of unopened windows and sweat got to him immediately. The darkness engulfed him for a second before his eyes adjusted to it. Then, he saw Bucky in the bed, twisted in his blankets, his face looking as if it was going to crumple in on itself. 

He walked closer to Bucky, watching as he twisted and turned in the bed, dripping in sweat.

"Buck, wake up," he said, even though it was hopeless, as he reached out and shook Bucky. His skin was unbearably cold and Steve was suddenly gripped by worry for him. "Please, wake up." 

Bucky didn't, so Steve tried again. 

"Please," Steve begged, touching Bucky's face gently. That seemed to at least lead to some progress, as Bucky slowed down in his twisting. 

Steve shook him again, harder this time. "Bucky, for fuck's sake"

Bucky gave a small scream before his eyes flew open.

He looked around the room, his eyes wide and terrified, before his stare landed on Steve and he seemed to relax. 

"You're here, you're okay" Steve whispered into his ear, leaning closer to him. His arms were stretched around Bucky, almost holding him. Steve hadn't even realised.

"Sorry," Bucky said, when he regained some peace, "I didn't mean to wake you up." 

"It's okay," Steve whispered, still by his bedside. Thinking this was his cue to go, he got up, untangling himself from Bucky. Rather than letting him go, though, Bucky held back harder. "Can you stay?" he asked, "Please?". 

It broke Steve's heart to hear his best friend sound so desperate for anything, let alone for something that he would easily give. 

"Sure," he said. He let his arms loosely remain around Bucky. He was thinking that this was only slightly an uncomfortable position when Bucky said something else. 

"What was that, Buck?" 

"Come 'ere," Bucky whispered, slightly pulling Steve towards him. Steve remained perplexed. He was unsure what to do about the whole situation, but then Bucky pulled him tighter and Steve had little choice but to obey. 

He climbed into the bed, next to Bucky. 

It should have felt weird, uncomfortable, like it wasn't meant to happen, but all it felt was like a nice position to sleep in. Unsure of what to do with his arms, Steve let them fall beside him as he stayed facing the ceiling. 

Bucky seemed to have other plans. 

"Fuck's sake," he mumbled as he leaned - or rather, pushed - into Steve. Steve took the hint and wrapped his arms tightly around Bucky.

"know you sleep outside for me," Bucky said softly, his voice barely registering with Steve. After that, Bucky said nothing else. 

He seemed to have fallen asleep soundly and soon enough, Steve followed him. 

In fact, Steve slept so well that night that for a moment, in the morning, he forgot where was. He wrapped his arms even tighter, before he realised what he was doing and fully woke up. For his part, Bucky didn't bother registering what had happened. Praying that he wouldn't wake up to this, Steve slowly and carefully untangled himself from the mess and tiptoed out of the room. 

He genuinely thought he got away with it, when Bucky walked out the room a few moments later. 

"Morning," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. 

"Morning," Steve said back, wondering what he remembered from the night before. 

It must have been something - please, let it have been something. But Bucky mentioned nothing about the night, instead taking his usually position in the kitchen, trying to trick the oven into boiling him some water for the coffee. Steve would have laughed, if he didn't feel so threatened by the fact that Bucky didn't seem to have any recollections. 

It seemed like a big deal to Steve. But - maybe he was exaggerating, blowing it out of proportions. It could have been a friendly cuddle. Yeah, Steve thought, a friendly a cuddle. 

It almost made sense. 

Except, it became a habit whenever Bucky was truly restless. 

Steve would slip in, try to wake Bucky up. Bucky would take one tired look at him and urge him to crawl into bed with him, before falling asleep in Steve's arms as if nothing was wrong. 

And every next morning after that, Bucky would wait for Steve to wake up before he did, never mentioning what had happened. 

For what it was worth, Steve would have gotten it if this were just some platonic cuddling that he was fortunate enough to get. But, it felt like more than that. 

Problem was, however courageous and brave Steve was supposed to be, he never got the guts to talk to Bucky about it. 

He must have been imagining it, he thought to himself one night when Bucky slept particularly soundly and Steve didn't need to intervene. It was just something to keep Bucky going, to help him through. Steve was happy with being that friend for Bucky. 

He told himself he didn't need more. 

And then, the mornings in the shower would come, when Steve let his thoughts run wild and he imagined another scenario where Bucky would be in his arms. Those were the good mornings. 

Some mornings, Steve woke up to Bucky screaming in his arms, paralysed with fear. Those mornings he tried his best to make his best friend forget whatever he had dreamt about, to allow him to live his life again. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. 

Those mornings were the worst. 

Steve had asked around, and he had searched in pharmacies, but antidepressants only seemed to be available very rarely and just with a prescription. Bucky had neither time nor a professional diagnosis, but it was obvious he needed help outside of what Steve could offer. 

So, Steve decided that it was enough, one day. 

He marched into Peggy's office, whom he would see at least once a week for brunch, and explained the situation. 

"He needs a shrink we can trust," he told her, ready to fight in order to get what Bucky needed, if necessary. 

"And have you asked him that or have you decided on your own?" Peggy asked him in turn, sharp as ever. 

"I'll convince him," Steve answered without missing a beat, "But it has to be a good shrink. Someone who has worked with soldiers before. Someone who can keep quiet, too." 

Peggy nodded at all the requests, "I'll see what I can do," she told Steve. 

That was all Steve could do: hope other people would be there to help Bucky up. 

Back in the future, Steve had begged T'challa to assign him a shrink, before T'challa had assured him that Bucky was already working with the best in the field, and that Steve didn't need to worry. 

He had still worried. And now, he worried double. 

He hoped the Bucky of the future would do alright with Sam because - because Steve wasn't sure he was going to come back. 

A month and a half later, Peggy got back to him. She told him she had screened over a hundred different psychologists and psychiatrists but no one seemed to be fit for the job. And definitely no one who would recognise signs of PTSD. Funily enough, it seemed like Steve was the best at seeing what was there. 

* * *

 

They were cuddling one night when Bucky turned around in his sleep, facing Steve. Immediately, Steve woke up, only to find Bucky's face dangerously close to his own. In the dead of night, under the cover of darkness, he took the chance of staring at Bucky's face intently, analysing every detail. There was a fading scar that crossed his cheek and an eyelash that laid undisturbed on his other cheek. Steve dared a glance at his lips as well, red and swollen after he had gotten into the bad habit of biting them whenever he had night terrors. They were still beautiful, Steve would still kiss them. 

If only he ever got the chance. 

A few days ago, Bucky had asked him why he hadn't gone out with Peggy again, like they had talked about during the war. Steve had mumbled a half-truth, saying that he was still hung up on someone from the future. Which really, wasn't a lie. 

Except it was. 

He was falling for this version of Bucky everyday, with the more things he did that reminded Steve of how utterly and helplessly in love he had been to begin with. He couldn't have told Bucky that, of course. 

But now, looking at those lips, he almost imagined he might. 

"I saw that drawing," Bucky suddenly whispered, his eyes lazily open. 

Steve looked away from his lips to meet his gaze.

"What drawing?" he asked, playing the innocent, even if he had a damn good idea what drawing Bucky was referring to. 

"You know which one," Bucky insisted, not playing games. "The drawing of me and you." 

Steve's heart must have stopped beating in that moment, because he damn well couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything but his own and Bucky's breathing - almost synchronized. 

"I- " Steve tried, attempting to think of a way he could defend himself. He couldn't. That drawing was a clear sign of what it meant - him and Bucky laying together, legs tangled and arms around each other. Steve remembered he had taken special care in drawing Bucky, making sure his jaw was strong enough and that his eyes shone with the same light they did in real life. Meanwhile, he had drawn himself a hybrid between what he was now and what he had been before the serum, someone average, someone you could easily have overlooked. 

"Is that what we are, in the future?" Bucky asked him, not tearing his eyes away from Steve's. In fact, he seemed to make a point to hold his gaze. 

"No, Buck - " Steve tried, words failing him. "I'm sorry, you were never supposed to find out." he told him, honestly because what else was there in the world? 

Bucky seemed to look at him for all of eternity before he said, "You fool," and did the most unexpected thing. 

He kissed Steve. 

It was quick, chaste, shy. It wasn't even a proper kiss. Bucky had missed half his mouth. 

And yet, Steve was left speechless. 

He tried to say something, opened his mouth, but words failed him. 

"Do you know what that means to me?" he finally asked Bucky, who had been staring intently at him ever since. Almost enjoying this. 

"I'm guessing what it means to me," Bucky answered him. 

Steve wondered if it was possible. If it was possible for his best friend to love him back the way he did, in an age when it was illegal to be loved like that. 

For the first time in a long time, Steve didn't think before he acted. Instead, he reached for Bucky's face, gently touching his cheek, before he kissed him again. 

He didn't rush this time. Instead, he took his time savoring the taste of his lips, how soft they were, how welcomingly they behaved. When Bucky opened his mouth, Steve did the same, their tongues meeting. Steve grabbed the back of Bucky's neck and pulled him towards him but Bucky had other thoughts. His metal arm sneaked under Steve and in one, swift, move, he was on top of Bucky, kissing him like he had never kissed anyone before. 

For his part, Bucky clinged to Steve's hip with his metal arm, digging into his skin, while his good arm moved upward to touch Steve's face. Steve almost leaned into the touch so much he forgot he was kissing Bucky to begin with. 

Oh my god, he was kissing Bucky. 

With a swift, panicked move, Steve pulled away and off Bucky and backed away as far as possible. 

"I -" he tried, but there were no words that could be said to remedy the situation. 

Bucky looked completely broken, staring at him with his blue, puppy eyes. 

"You didn't enjoy that?" he asked Steve, sincerity in his voice.

Steve blinked back at him, taken aback. "I did," he said, unsure. 

"Why did you pull back, then?" 

How could he explain it? "It's the middle of the night," he decided on saying, "If you still feel like this tomorrow, then we can talk about it." 

"I've felt like this since you were fucking 14 and getting into your first fights!" Bucky protested, throwing Steve completely aback. 

Since he was 14 years old. 

That was a long time to keep a secret like this. 

"Then you'll feel like this in the morning too," he said instead, his tone not leaving room for arguing. 

He moved back into bed with Bucky, holding him tightly against his chest.

"And if you don't, that's okay too," he mumbled in Bucky's hair. 

"I will," Bucky whispered back. 

He did. 

* * *

 

In the morning, Steve wasn't the first to wake up. 

Instead, as he walked into the kitchen, he found Bucky standing there with two cups of coffee and a half-burnt omelette on the stove, smiling a smile that Steve found to have never seen before on Bucky. 

"Morning," he told Steve. 

"Morning," Steve replied. He grabbed one of the cups and looked over at the stove. "That looks good," he laughed. 

Bucky threw him a look. "Shut up, I'm trying."  

Steve smiled at that but didn't add much. Bucky had always been the worse cook between the two of them. 

The kiss was still fresh in his mind and he could almost feel Bucky's lips on his own. The notion that he knew what kissing Bucky felt like was dizzying to Steve. He could have never imagined it, he made damn sure he didn't allow his mind to go that far, but now that it was an actual possibility - well, it was insane. 

He sipped his coffee, not wanting to be the one that brought it up. 

"Shit," Bucky said, stepping back from the stove. The omelette was black now, and Steve tried his hardest not to laugh at the situation. 

"You might as well try again with fresh eggs," he told Bucky, sitting down at the small table they had. 

Bucky took the omelette off the stove, cursing at it as if that was going to make it better. "I was trying to do something nice - damn it," Bucky said, exasperated. 

Steve smiled at his turned back before getting up. He reached for the eggs in the fridge, his arm brushing against Bucky's right arm. Steve leaned into the contact, damning the consequences, but was surprised to realise Bucky was leaning into it as well. 

Slowly, Steve ran the back of his hand against Bucky's arm. As if he could sense how much this meant to Steve, Bucky shivered at the contact. Carefully, as if any sudden movement would scare both of them away, Steve turned around. His heart was beating faster than it had during any fight and his breathing was so uneven he thought he might stop breathing all together soon. Still, he kept turning until he could face Bucky, who seemed to be frozen in place. With courage he didn't know he had, Steve reached a hand to Bucky's left cheek and slowly turned him around. Bucky didn't resist it. 

When Bucky finally looked up, Steve realised how close they actually were. 

Their eyes met, making Steve's breath catch in his throat. 

"Do you still want this, Buck?" he whispered, his voice coming out in shaken breaths. 

"I do," Bucky exhaled without hesitation, before pulling Steve into a kiss. 

Steve kissed back immediately, matching Bucky's desperation with his own. 

 


End file.
